He Wanted to Try
by Sano S. Sagara
Summary: Filled a request for insecure!Dean, and oblivious!Castiel for a tumblr follower! Dean's inner monologue as he realizes that he may have more than just feelings of friendship for Castiel. Set in the Bunker, no spoilers really.


Dean had no idea how to do this shit.

Castiel sat on the edge of a chair in the bunker, perched really. In his lap was an ancient book on some creature or another, and he was pouring over it with single-minded determination.

Dean scowled and snatched his coffee mug from the counter, turning quickly to hide the reddening of his face.

_God-DAMNIT! _Dean tried to tamp down on the ridiculous bubble of happiness that was rising in his chest, confused and worried. Why was he coming apart like this? Cas was his -friend-. Why was he noticing the way the early morning light lit up the angle's hair, or the way he shifted his body weight while talking? Why was he noticing the way Cas's voice changed depending on the subject? Why was he obsessed with touching Cas when they talked?

Why did he have the huge and almost impossible to squelch urge to grab his _friend_ and kiss him whenever they made eye contact?

Dean knew the answer, didn't want to face the answer... wanted to run to the impala and drive a thousand miles away from the answer.

He had _feelings_ for the angel.

The day he realized it, he'd felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath his feet. The breath got sucked out of his lungs, and his knees wobbled, and his freaking _hands_ started to sweat. He felt like a kid with their first crush. He WAS a kid with his first crush.

He'd cared about people, lots of people. He cared about everyone he met. He cared about most of the chicks he'd been with-at least, he hadn't NOT cared. But they were all wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am flings. Especially Lisa and Ben, he'd cared about them alot. He'd tried to make a life with them.

Tried to make a life with them by abandoning everything that constituted his personality and life up till then, but still. He'd tried, and he'd been happy.

Happy.

He'd been happy.

He'd been melancholy and haunted. Haunted by his mistakes and failures and fuck ups until he had shoved them all into a little box and managed to smile his way into a life that normal people wanted.

But even then, it wasn't _this_ Dean that had loved her. It was the Dean that wasn't a hunter, the Dean that didn't have a brother, or an angel, or an impala, or the blood of monsters on his hands that had loved her. That still loved her.

That Dean started to die when Sam revealed himself as alive. When Lisa and Ben forgot him, that Dean breathed his last.

So he went back to THIS Dean, with booze, and women he wouldn't call again. But, c'mon, he _cared_ about them.

Not like he cared about Sammy. Or Bobby, or... Cas.

Cas was his FRIEND. FRIENDS didn't want to stroke their hands through each other's hair. Friends didn't catch themselves imagining what each other's lips tasted like, or what their skin would feel like at the nape of their neck.

He felt guilty.

Cas didn't feel the same for him. WHY would Cas feel the same for him? Dean wasn't a prize. He was an alcoholic, emotionally stunted walking lightning rod for bad luck. Everyone he loved had died. He couldn't love Cas, _wouldn't _love him. It wasn't fair.

Cas was kind, and good. Good in a way Dean wasn't. Cas loved people, loved bees for christ's sake. He disobeyed God. Disobeyed GOD to save a bunch of bumbling over juiced monkeys that couldn't find their own asses if they reach backwards with both hands and clapped.

And here he was, sitting in the bunker with Dean, nonchalantly, like his entire existence didn't harangue Dean's like lightning to a rod.

It was becoming pathetic. Dean lost control of his facial expressions around Cas. His tongue tripped over one syllable words. His eyes were constantly drawn to the angel like Cas had magnets in his lips and collarbone and shoulders. Like, really? _Shoulders_? Since when were shoulders an area of fascination?

Dean wanted to sit next to him. Lean shoulder to shoulder and rest his head against Cas's. He wanted to hold his hand, and kiss him. He wanted to protect Cas, even though he knew that Cas was stronger than him. Cas was better off without him. Dean was a liability. He was human, he was imperfect.

Dean was in love with Castiel.

And it terrified him. Dean destroyed everything he touched! He had failed Sam, failed his Father, failed his Mother... He'd failed Cas too. Failed him by not being there for him, failed him by pushing him away, failed him by getting his family killed and destroying his home.

Why would Cas love Dean when there were literally billions of better people than him?

Even if he DID work up the nerve to talk to Cas, he'd blow it eventually.

He'd want to be with him all the time, he'd want to tell him he loved him, he'd want to hold him and touch him and... He'd end up chasing Cas away. He wasn't good when it mattered. If Cas meant nothing, he could just wing it. But he'd be destroyed if he hurt Cas. He'd rather rip his lungs out than hurt the angel. He'd rather walk over broken glass and crawl back into purgatory than ever see Castiel cry. He'd want to sit in companionable silence and just look at Cas.

He'd end up chasing Cas away. By being too needy, too forward, too _something_ and then he'd have lost the most important thing in his life outside of Sam.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas didn't glance up from the page when Dean came into the room, but Dean felt the quick shiver of Cas's grace race over his arms as the angel did a cursory angelic check up.

But god damn it did Dean want to try. It may go up in smoke, it may tear his heart out. But Dean had to try.

"Cas, I love you,"


End file.
